


Not a Boring Night Shift, Ever!

by Hoshisaki



Series: Not Boring At All [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Break Up, Comforting Each Other, Ice cream is comfort food, M/M, Mentions of sexual haressment, Protective!Derek, Stiles works at a diner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoshisaki/pseuds/Hoshisaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Stiles had learned anything in his summer vacation, it was that he was never bored on his night shifts. Like ever. Something always came up. Like trouble. Or someone. Like Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Boring Night Shift, Ever!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlocKai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlocKai/gifts).



> The final part of the series! Enjoy reading!

 

Not a Boring Night Shift, Ever!

 

If Stiles were to put a descriptive word to his last summer of high school, he would probably say,  ʻ unexpected ʼ . And not in the sense of grand journeys east to slay mighty dragons. More in a  ʻthe job sounded pretty boringʼ kind of way. Which, granted, it was. The job. It were the things that happened during his working hours and on his nights off that made for an unexpected adrenaline rush, elevated heart beats and on some parts – mostly related to a specific someone – utter confusion.

And Stiles wasn't quite sure what to think about things.

Things like arguing with Dad whose turn it was to have Hazel sleep in their beds with them or giving Deputy Parrish advice on how to  ʻcarefully interact with Lydia when she had her period ʼ or his one and only faithful regular.

Who was sitting on his customary bar stool, sipping on his black coffee, and had ʻconstant vigilanceʼ written all over his face. Derek would've made Mad-Eye Moody proud, Stiles mused, wiping the empty tables in the diner. Yeah, at least that movie reference didn't make him almost-cry like the time he had (silently, thank God) compared Derek to Hachiko. Coz', damn...

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Derek turned on the bar stool to call across the room, “Stiles?”

It spoke for their understanding of each other that Stiles had learned how to decipher  _ that _ into a full sentence: “Are you alright, Stiles, because your heart beat is picking up?”

Stiles sighed, stretched his back, rolled his shoulders and returned to his usual post behind the counter.

“Feels kinda strange, you know. After all that happened this week, I feel like something big is about to happen. Just to fuck with me on my last night shift.”

And it was true. It was, in fact, Stiles' last night on coffee duty. The new and last school year would start in a few days.

It was also true that this last week on the job was more exciting than any other. It had started out harmlessly enough with Hazel nicking his right ear during play time with the wolves. The incident involved a wee bit of blood, a very faint feeling Stiles and a caring Derek who gently licked off said blood before Scott could even think about getting his vet-in-training-skills out.

The other night Stiles had the pleasure of dealing with his first (and hopefully last) bill-dodger. To be fair, the guy didn't end up dodging any bills, because Derek had caught up with him not a hundred yards from the diner's doors and dragged him back to pay in full. Needless to say that the Sheriff had paid his son a professional visit that night.

As did Deputy Parrish and his newly assigned partner the following night when they were out looking for a lost grade schooler. Scott had called later and reported the successful retrieval of the child from a friend's garden shed, having a secret sleep-over. Well, the wolfy nose knows...

And than shit hit the fan. Two nights ago, Stiles was forced to deal with this drunk bastard who had grabbed Stiles' butt one too many times before Stiles texted Derek for help. The drunkard had totally improperly commented on ʻthat skinny, little assʼ and ʻthat cute, pink mouthʼ and how he'd ʻfuck him real goodʼ, but by the time the asshole had got his hands on Stiles' shirt and slurred a ʻFuck me, lil' bitch!ʼ at him, Derek had stormed into the diner like a hurricane and pounced on the drunken man. A couple of precise punches and the man was out cold. Stiles had trembled in Derek's arms until his Dad and Deputy Parrish arrived, ambulance in tow, and both their statements had been taken. The werewolf hadn't left his side since.

Which resulted in last night's drama: Derek missing Braeden coming home. From what Stiles could tell by the deeply furrowed eye brows and the agitated typing on his phone, it was anything but pretty. To be honest, while Stiles was really grateful for Derek's protection, it also confused the hell out of him, because didn't ʻmy girlfriend comes home after weeks of absenceʼ trump ʻkeep an eye out for the fragile human pack memberʼ? 

A couple of times, Derek had taken the phone calls outside. When he came back in, Stiles bit his lips and hardly dared to look up at Derek until the coffee cup was pushed forward, a grumpy growl asking for a refill.

A hand on this shoulder brought him back to the present.

“Don't freak yourself out, Stiles.”

The teenager huffed and lightly squeezed the broad, warm hand with his own that probably reeked of cheap dish soap.

“I'm not gonna promise anything.”

Derek sighed quietly, pulled his hand back from the shoulder, but reached for his hand. Stiles watched him tracing the veins on the back of his hand with a thumb.

“Derek?” ʻAre you alright, Derek, because you look like a big pile of man pain?ʼ

He climbed onto the edge of the lower part on his side of the counter, so he could lean over and into Derek's space without having to go around the whole thing.

“Derek, answer me honestly. Are you having some kind of, I don't know, feelings you might want to talk about?” He winced. That didn't quite sound like the had intended. “I mean, girlfriend trouble?”

Derek just grunted and took a sip of coffee with his free hand.

“Or maybe...” Stiles chewed nervously on his bottom lip. “Does it-... Uh, is it because of me? You know, the day before yesterday?”

Derek's shoulders tensed.

“Aha.”

The werewolf looked down into the cup.

“Derek...” Stiles said softly and cupped the stubble covered cheek gently. “There's really no reason for you to agonize over this, okay? You rescued the damsel in distress in time. Nothing serious happened! I'm okay. The guy is behind bars. You should be okay, too.” Stiles' thumb pad caressed the curve of Derek's cheekbone. “So, why aren't you?”

Silence.

“Do you even know why yourself?”

Derek pursed his lips.

“Okay, so you have an idea as to why you're being the depressed emo teen here, but you don't wanna use your words?”

Derek growled lowly.

“I can get you pencil and paper from the back office, if you want to draw me a diagram?” Stiles suggested, half jokingly, half earnestly. He was ready for being loudly snarled at or even shoved off the counter, but instead Derek pulled him in and held him close. Stiles' breath caught in surprise. The higher edge of the counter dug uncomfortably into his side. He felt the warmth of Derek's forehead against his throat.

“Is this about me having nightmares?” Stiles asked quietly and dragged his fingertips through Derek's short hair, lightly massaging the back of his head.

“You scream like a banshee...” Derek finally admitted and Stiles pulled back with a determined expression set on his face.

“Look, Derek. I've been having nightmares and trouble sleeping for years, okay? Sometimes fewer, sometimes more often, sometimes more intense than others. But that has nothing to do with what happened the other day, okay? And certainly nothing to do with you.”

He waited a moment, gave it time to sink in.

“You know, I never told you, but when I dream about you, the dreams are actually kinda funny.” Which was half of the truth, but nobody liked admitting to having wet dreams about someone to the someone they were having the wet dreams about. “Like that time, when I dreamed you shifted into a furry, little puppy and Scott and I had to wolf-housebreak you and save our shoes and school books from becoming your chew toys and stuff.”

Derek smirked.

“Tell me, you put me on a leash and I will tie you up in the basement with your very own chains.”

“Oh, kinky. Safeword's ʻmistletoeʼ, by the way, but no. Sorry to disappoint, but no leash or collar. We simply kept you in the back yard. There was a fairly high, white picket fence though.” 

Stiles grinned while Derek shook his head, lips curled in badly hidden amusement.

“I know, crazy, right?” Derek just rolled his eyes and Stiles hopped off the counter. “So, are we good?”

Derek nodded and pointed at the coffee pot on the warmer.

Stiles laughed, but stopped when Derek's expression suddenly turned hard and cold again.

“Should I get my bat?”

“No, but come around here.”

Stiles' stomach churned. Derek slid off the bar stool. The door opened.

To reveal Malia and Braeden, both carrying helmets. Malia had a backpack thrown over one shoulder.

“What's going on?” Stiles asked as his girlfriend hugged him tightly.

She pecked him on the cheek and said, “Stiles, remember when you told me, ʻa girl gotta do what a girl gotta doʼ?”

“Yeah,” Stiles frowned. “We were talking about math homework.” The words had a tiny bit of an inquiring tone to them.

“Great! Well, this is more important than stupid math!” Malia beamed, much to Stiles' steadily growing confusion. “Braeden is going to take me with her to look for my mother, Stiles!”

“Say what?” Stiles asked dumbfounded.

“I've got some intel as to her whereabouts,” Braeden spoke up. “I figured, I could use Malia to finally find her.”

“Use her?” Stiles repeated, sort of appalled.

“So I'm going with her. You can't stop me. It's decided!” Malia enthused and hugged him again, forcefully.

“But what about school and...” He could bring himself to say ʻmeʼ.

“Pff, fuck school, Stiles! I'll find my mom, my real mom!”

And who was Stiles to refuse her that? After all, mothers were kind of a soft spot with him.

She let go of him and turned to Derek, also hugging the life out of him. “And while I'm away, you take care of Stiles, okay, dear cousin of mine?”

Stiles felt his jaw dropping. “What? But...”

Braeden grabbed one of his flailing limbs and placed a rather big key in his hand. “To the loft,” she said tersely and turned to leave.

“Bye bye, boys!” Malia yelled back, already halfway through the doors.

And then, they stood there. Derek with his arms mid-air from the hastily ended surprise-hug. Stiles with a key to a flat he didn't live in.

“What the hell was that?” Stiles inquired uselessly after a minute.

Derek shrugged.

“Did our girlfriends just break up with us?” This situation was baffling, to say the least!

“No,” Derek answered and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Yours did.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you call this?” The perplexed teen held out the key.

“It's called, ʻgiving back things after a break-upʼ,” Derek said, but the tense lines around his mouth loosened up. He closed Stiles' fingers around the key.

“When?” Stiles whispered, heart breaking slowly.

“Earlier today. That second phone call.” Derek's voice was rough and low.

“Really? What a shitty way to... No, wait, I can't deal with this without coffee,” Stiles promptly decided and got himself the biggest coffee mug he could find. “Fuck the Adderall!”

He filled both Derek's and his cups to the brim.

“What a shitty way to break up. Over the phone! Man, I gotta say, Derek, you have absolutely no luck whatsoever with women.” He shook his head furiously and drained half of the huge mug.

“Apparently.”

Stiles huffed. “But look at the bright side: at least this one didn't kill anybody.”

Derek lifted an eye brow doubtfully.

“Except, well, putting aside the fact that she's totally a gun for hire and the you-almost-dying-thing in Mexico that was really not her fault but I kinda wanna blame her...?”

Derek groaned, putting his face in his hands.

“Oh God, please Derek, promise me, you'll never date a girl ever again.” Stiles sighed, frustrated. “Maybe you should try dating boys instead?”

Derek threw him an unimpressed look over his fingertips. “Are you offering?” He asked wryly.

Stiles choked on a mouthful of coffee, very narrowly avoiding spitting it out. He coughed for a bit.

“I, ughm, you? … Get back to me about that in a couple of days?” Stiles replied meekly after calming himself. “I might need a bit to process what's happening here, okay?”

“Sure,” Derek said, just as soft. “Me, too.”

“Awesome!” Stiles clapped his hands in fake merriment. “Let's get drunk and hyper on ice cream until six in the morning!” He didn't wait for Derek before dashing to the freezer. “You want Chocolate Fudge Brownie or Cookie Dough?”

He placed the containers on the counter, got up on the bar stool next to Derek and pressed a table spoon into his hands.

“And afterwards, we'll go home and have a long, nice cuddle. Promise?” And maybe cry some.

Derek smiled warmly and put his arm around Stiles' shoulders.

“Promise,” he whispered into Stiles' hair, pressing his lips to his temple in a comforting, little kiss.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, losing himself in the embrace. Just feeling Derek's chest rise and fall relieved the pain in his own chest. After a while, Stiles sat up, clearing his throat.

“Okay, brain-freeze, here we come!”

They actually managed not to make that much of a mess and by a quarter to six, Derek paid an unbelievably large sum of money for bad coffee and fair-trade ice cream.

Later, when they lay curled up in Stiles' bed, special pillow and adopted Wolpertinger close to them, Stiles thought that, yeah, perhaps lots of unexpected things happened this summer, but in the end, he wasn't alone. And judging by the slight brush of lips and stubble on his neck, he didn't think that any future nights might be spent in lonesome boredom.

 

~

 

The End

 


End file.
